


Ink

by fayzrunner



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Richlee - Freeform, idek, mysterious tattoo au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayzrunner/pseuds/fayzrunner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drunk tattoos have their benefits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! so my friend wrote this absolutely brilliant story and decided to post it on here. i hope you guys like it!!

  Imagine discovering a mysterious tattoo on your body when you're in the shower. You don't know how it got there, you don't know why it's there. You don't wanna think about whether it really  _is_  permanent or not. All you remember is that the night before included heavy drinking, heavy enough to wipe off memories.

    Lee cursed, ceasing to shower properly and examining closely the strange pattern that was a mix of Maori fish hooks, spikes and intersecting lines swooping across his left inner forearm. He rubbed desperately at it, as if it might just come off if he tried smudging it. What the hell? It had to have been last night. Why tattoo artists wouldn't just  _refuse_  drunk clients, he would never understand.

    Distressed, he turned off the water and sprang for the mirror outside the shower.

    "Fuck..." Lee hissed to himself, staring at his body's reflection, along with its new addition. And it  _had_  to be so goddamn large, taking up three quarters of his inner forearm. Why,  _why_ had he taken vodka last night?! A simple beer would have been enough. Now he'd ended up inking himself in a drunken lunacy. Just  _what was he thinking?!_

    Lee stormed out of the bathroom, getting dressed with frustration and pure panic. Thank God it was the fall; he had an excuse to wear a long-sleeved jacket. How was he to explain this to people? He couldn't even explain to himself.

    Later that day, he hit the streets, self-consciously rubbing at his forearm.

* * *

THE NIGHT BEFORE

   Richard usually never took vodka. Wine was more his thing; gentle, and went hand in hand with literature. He usually never went to bars either, especially not alone, and especially not a dark, shady one in a street tottering over the border between middle class and lower class metropolis. But there he was, in a shady bar, ordering a vodka from a bartender who literally cleaned his glasses with his spit and a dirty washcloth.

   "Whoa. What's the occasion?" the raspy voice of the bartender rattled into a sentence. Richard lowered his already hung head and flushed; was his face really giving away that much? Nevertheless, he started to reply, still unsure of what to respond with, when someone answered for him.

   "S'there gotta be an occasion?" the answerer answered lightly. Richard whipped to the right so quickly something in his neck cracked.

   The answerer, a man around his mid 30s, took notice of Richard and gave him a polite nod and smile. He had on nice clothes, too nice for a place like this (like Richard did), and a very nice face to go with it. The stranger broke out another polite smile for the bartender once his shot was served. The two vodka buddies.

   Richard hadn't realized he was staring at the man whom he nearly stole an answer from until the man caught him doing so. He hadn't even realized that he'd been caught until the man spoke.

   "What's your occasion, then?" the stranger asked in a small-talk manner, snapping Richard out of his thoughts.

   Richard blinked furiously. "Sorry, daydreaming. Uh..."

    He fell gradually silent when he recalled his occasion. Nobody drank vodka casually, after all. Break-ups were one thing, but angry break-ups were another. Richard wasn't one for anger.

    The stranger watched Richard's downcast face, aware that he'd said something touchy. "Um, sorry, I shouldn't have-"  
    "No, it's alright." Richard answered kindly. He'd only started paying attention to the stranger's voice; it was low, velvety and calming, all wrapped up in a Southern accent. It was everything he needed that night; he needed an excuse for the stranger to use that beautiful voice again. "My name's Richard."

    "I'm Lee. Nice to meet you."

    Their two hands met in an awkward shake; one side hopeless and slight, the other firm and confident. For a horrible fleeting moment, Richard deduced that possibly nothing more would be said after that handshake if he didn't step up. "So...uh...do you usually drink vodka by yourself?"

    Lee let out a pleasant, light laugh, and instantly the awkward small-talk smoothed itself into a proper conversation. "No. I guess tonight I'm just...bored. And lonely." He lifted his shot in the air, as if toasting to himself. "One man party here. "

    Richard let himself chuckle. "Yeah. It's funny what loneliness can do to a person."

   Lee's glance slid from his glass to Richard. "S'that why you're here? Are you lonely?"

   His mind was set to lie. What did a stranger named Lee do to deserve an honest answer? Everything could be left unchanged if he'd just said 'No, I'm alright'. Instead, what came out was. "Yeah. Yeah I am."

    Lee looked thoughtful for a moment, before putting on a bright smile. "Well then tonight we can be alone together. Cheers."

    His bright smile eased something in Richard, who officially decided from then on that he liked that smile very much. Richard lifted his glass to meet Lee's in a gentle clink. Thankfully, this time it wasn't as  awkward as their first handshake.

    One shot led to another. And another and another and another and another. Until the two had about as much control over themselves as trying to grip a bar of soap in the shower. They headed out on unsteady feet, not making it far down the street. Not even a sober witness could tell whose idea it was to stop at the tattoo parlor to get matching tattoos. Or whose idea it was to head to Central Park afterwards. Or who pulled them together under the bridge and kissed the other first.

* * *

 

   Four days alone of avoiding anything short-sleeved was already driving Lee crazy. He sat alone outside a coffee shop, the steaming Americano warming his hand. He watched the crazy people of this city walk by, going about their daily lives. The skyscrapers towered over everyone like monsters.

   Despite there being a shade parked next to the table, the sun still managed to glare at Lee, urging him to look away. He blinked in annoyance and complied, turning to face the other way to the man at the table in front of him. The sun looked away.

    It took Lee seven sips of Americano coffee to realize that the man at the table in front of him was baring his tattoo of Maori fish hooks, spikes and intersecting lines thrown together on his arm.

   Lee hadn't intended on standing so abruptly as he did, nearly knocking over his coffee. It drew the attention of the man with the matching tattoo, and now all Lee had to do was to push back his left sleeve and bare his tattoo, too.

   Richard gaped at Lee's arm, and then at his, before muttering in wonder, "Shit."

   Not that either of them remembered a second of their night together, but they could recall enough for Lee to say, "Uh hi...I think we've met before."


End file.
